


The Stars Don’t Twinkle in Space

by MoChimChim137



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cutting, Lance Angst, Langst, One Shot, Other, Sad, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Unhappy Ending, i don’t regret this lol sorry, lance is one sad boi, ok I lied I am sorry, please don’t read this if this could trigger you, poor lance, the voltron team are kind of dicks, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoChimChim137/pseuds/MoChimChim137
Summary: Lance is fed up. The constant fighting, the guilt, the terrible way he’s treated. He can’t keep it up much longer.So he stops.
Relationships: None
Comments: 8
Kudos: 136
Collections: Voltron Stars🌌





	The Stars Don’t Twinkle in Space

The mind was important.

It's what gives you happiness.

It's what keeps you alive.

Lance didn't want to be alive.

Lance didn't think the mind was important. If it was, why was it constantly telling him he was useless, disgusting, not good enough, unworthy to be a paladin-

He was done.

He had been done for a while now.

The constant belittlement, coming from not only himself, but his friends, his family.

In space, they were the only things he had. 

In this cold, desolate, hell they called space, the very place he had dreamed of as a child, the place he imagined to be filled with wonderment and love, the place he thought he’d be able to see himself as someone important.

Back on earth, he’d spend night after night, gazing out his window at the stars, thinking to himself as they twinkled down at him, “When I reach that, I’ll finally be good enough!”

The stars didn't twinkle in space.

They were ruthless.

Get to close, and you would burn.

And they were so far away from the only place he wanted to be. Home. God, he missed it. And yet, no matter how hard he prayed, he knew he'd never make it back.

He would fight, and scream, and cry, and eventually, he would become one of the many stars he’d stared at with awe as a child, killing in this nothing.

He was already halfway there from the looks of it.

The blood on his hands, tainting his very being, were a contributing factor as to why he so craved death.

He'd heard of survivors guilt. I mean, come on, who hasn't? He just never really thought he'd have to experience it. The constant guilt and how he should've died not those children, not those innocent families oh god please they'd done nothing wrong-

He'd decided a long time ago that he'd rather see his own blood on his hands than someone else's. Whether they were Galra or not didn't matter to him, he just couldn't stand having to spill others blood if it didn't mean his own would be spilled in equal amounts.

It had started off small.

There were plenty of razors on the ship, or at least the Altean equivalent, all he had to do was press and drag, nothing too difficult.

He wouldn’t get addicted, that's what he told himself. He’d only do 5 cuts at most, that was all. didn't deserve to go unscathed, but he was too much of a coward to do anything more drastic.

It had been less than a week before he had moved along from that.

10 at most. 16 at most. 16 at least. 20, 30, 40...

The rivulets of maroon cascading down his arm always gave him a sick sense of pleasure, the only light in the darkness of his mind, yet never enough to make him smile. He couldn't even remember the last time he had smiled.

No one had noticed a change. “Figures.” he had hissed out after running to his room when they had yelled at him for nearly shooting his teammates during training. He couldn't help that he had a panic attack that kept him up until there were mere hours until it was time to wake. He couldn't help that the blood loss from last night had left him almost to dizzy to stand. He couldn't help that he hadn't eaten even a bite of food in days, too scared to confront his team and ruin the only happiness they managed to scrap up during mealtimes. He knew his presence alone would put them all in a sour mood.

He let out a bitter laugh as he slipped the blade underneath his pillow. He hadn't yet bothered to clean it in its months of use. If his cuts got infected, so be it. Maybe they would kill him, but he could only hope.

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he clutched his beds pillow close to him, attempting to imitate the presence of his mother's body, cradling him in her arms after he ran to her room when the nightmares got to be too much.

His stomach had gone far past the point of cramping at this point, it was just a constant ache, reminding him he was slowly but surely starving to death. He was just so tired, but he couldn't allow himself to sleep. He never wanted to see his nightmares again, although he knew sleep would inevitably come.

The effects of starvation were starting to show. He could easily see his collarbones jutting out, his wrists thin enough to wrap his fingers around. His ribs protruded unnaturally against his sunken stomach, and his once unblemished caramel skin was yellowed and covered with scars and bruises that came with the fighting, from both the war and himself.

He had always been thin, but never this thin. He was lucky that the galra hadn’t attacked in a while, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to fight. He couldn't even get up without the world spinning. His constant blood loss wasn't helping with the matter, and if he ever tried standing, he'd fall on all fours and cough up bile until he was dry heaving.

And yet...

No one noticed.

He was so fragile. He looked as if a gust of wind would send him crumbling to the floor, breaking like shards of glass. He never smiled, he had grown sick of putting up a mask since it only seemed to further annoy his teammates when he acted happy, so he allowed himself to act sad.

They didn't acknowledge it.

He'd sit through meetings, quiet as a mouse. If he attempted to put in his input, he'd only receive glares and screams telling him to stop goofing off, this was serious and if he ruined that they wouldn't hesitate to throw him off the team.

It had been months of quiet and yet they still saw him as the loud, obnoxious, goofball, always ruining plans and putting others at risk, always flirting with anything alive, always fucking everything up.

He was so tired.

Tired of being yelled at, tired of hurting, tired of everything.

So he stopped.

He walked around the castle one last time, long after everyone had fallen asleep. He glanced at all the rooms, trying to commit them to his memory. The observation deck, the common area, the medical bay, the kitchen...

He had rounded the entire castle, and looked peacefully down the corridor containing their rooms. He glanced at each of his teammates doors, mourning the fact that he couldn't see them one last time, before he slipped into his own room and placed the previously written notes out in the open on his bed.

He grabbed his razor and made his way to the bathroom. He filled the tub, not bothering to strip before settling into the steaming water. He took a deep breath. This was it. The faces of his friends, of his family, flashed once before his eyes before he dragged the blade up his arms. Once. Twice. Thrice and he was gone.

He'd never hear the paladins excited whispers as they carried a steaming plate of pancakes to his room, freshly made by hunk, with the “help” of the others, their way of apologizing after realizing how cruel they'd been to him.

He'd never hear their confused muttering as Shiro went pale after reading one of the notes on his bed.

He'd never hear Hunks screams as Shiro threw open the bathroom door. Never hear Pidges sobs as she took in the sight of her friend, her brother, cold and pale, bloodied arm hanging from the side of the bathtub. Never hear Keith's retching as he choked on the metallic scent of blood permeating the room coming from one of his only friends. Never see Shiros comforting words as he threw lances body over his shoulder, rushing to the med bay. Never see Coran, standing with tears streaming down his face at the loss of his son. Never see Alluras silent horror at finding her paladin dead.

He'd never hear Shiros broken scream when he realized he was actually gone, that they couldn't heal a corpse.

He'd never see his mama's face when they came home, and told her not three months prior that they had found him dead, he had killed himself, in his own room.

He'd never see his funeral, cut short by an attack from the galra.

He'd never see the deaths of his friends.

He'd never see the destruction of his planet.

He'd never see the galra win.

He'd never know that, just maybe, he was more important then he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading The Stars Don’t Twinkle in Space!
> 
> It took me a while to gather the confidence to post this, so I hope it’s okay!  
> Kudos and comment! The thing every Ao3 author wants!


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